i am brOKen
by Pozagee
Summary: Grell Centric. Mentions of Sebastian/Grell and William/Grell. "Grell liked pain. He loved it. Therefore, when someone gave him the very pain he desired, he loved them. Therefore, he loved himself."


Masochism was relatively new in those times—none hardly knew it by it's name. The Austrian writer (Leopold von Sacher-Masoch) that the ailment had been named for was not too overly famous in England, for "Venus in Furs" was the only mass-produced in English book (and most—cepting for high class peoples with well-off families—had little time to learn German).

Perhaps that is the reason that no one truly understood Grell Sutcliff—siding for other rather obvious reasons.

Within Leopold's "Psychopathia Sexualis" was the earliest form of masochism—but as previously stated, most of the Austrian's books remained outside of the English language.

But—then again—maybe it would have made no difference: Grell was immortal, after all. Supposedly "above petty human afflictions".

But there was no other way to describe how he acted—how he would act rather reserved (if Grell could truly act as such) around strangers, or neutral parties; how if a member of either group decided to hurt him (either physically or mentally, it made no difference), how he would then act—for lack of a better word—"ga-ga" over them.

Yes, Grell was—and still is—a rather odd being. His tendancies to harm himself or throw himself in harm's way were odd—unexplainable, esspecially to those of all parties.

The truth was and is pure and simple: Grell enjoys pain. He enjoys red—the red of his blood, painting the world—and he enjoys the pain.

No one is quite sure why, how, or even WHEN Grell decided that the only way for him to derive pleasure from life was through his own suffering...perhaps it was something from his past life—something long-ago forgotten—that pushed him to this. That was the only logical answer for the first question—the others remain unanswered.

Grell always appeared open to everyone—a defense mechanism, apparently, to hide the enigma that was truly him. Grell was not only a surface being—no, he was layers deep.

And each and every one of those layers were broken.

~i~am~br~OK~en~

They were in a woods—that's all there was to it. There was no-particular reason that Grell or the other involved knew of; only that they were in a woods.

"Sebas-chan?" Grell called in flirtacious tones, flashing his pointed teeth. "Where are you?"

He knew Sebastian would not answer—at least, not with words.

And sure enough, knives came flying (seemingly out of nowhere), sinking into the Reaper, and pinning him to a tree.

"Owie!" Grell moaned, though his eyes glazed over with pleasure—however momentarily. "Oh Sebas-chan! That was not nice!"

Sebastian emerged from the tangled woods, frowning at Grell. "I am not nice." He smirked then, as Grell pouted.

"You should not hurt a lady like this! It is barbaric!"

Sebastian looked at him levelly, that oh-so-fake grin still resting on his lips. "One, you are not a lady. Two, I am a gentleman—not a barbarian. Now I bid you good day, Grim Reaper Grell."

"Oh!" Grell swooned causing more beautiful red to leak out of his dreadfully-pale skin. "So cold!"

He giggled like mad—or maybe he giggled madly. Like a man who was mad? Perhaps he was mad...

Sebastian was walking away now, his steps as sure as though he was walking through the Phantomhive Manor.

Grell yanked away from the tree, collapsing on the ground in shock. The blood was a brilliant as rubies—it sparkled so nicely in the moonlight.

Grell would have stood, but his head felt odd—as though it was stuffed with cotton—and his eyes felt oddly painful.

He told himself it was pleasure.

"S...Sebas-chan..."

The demon butler turned around. His gaze was dead. Dead as always. Perhaps always was dead. There was no such thing as always—not anymore.

"Oh Sebas-chan? Don't you want to hurt me and break me and make me bleed?"

Sebastian tilted his head, and perhaps his eyes DID shine with a bit of confusion.

"Yes. However, I haven't the time. Excuse me."

And he left.

Grell wasn't sure whether Sebastian's answer hurt more, or if the alternative would have...

~i~am~br~OK~en~

Grell waited until it was too late to turn in his papers.

That always made William mad.

He walked in to the office—it was as cold as it's owner—and laid himself out on the large desk, fanning himself with his work.

"Will, it is oh-so warm in here...or are you just trying to make me all hot-and-bothered?" Grell smiled his smile everyone believed was real.

William glared at him, his eye-glasses glinting in a way that seemed to radiate hatred.

"You are absolutely useless, Sutcliff. I suppose you tardiness is due to your overwhelming "urges" to drape yourself over that demon."

The first part could have been easily looked over—the second part was brimming with bitterness, that could easily be translated into jealousy.

And perhaps that was the illusion Grell set up. But he loved every word.

"Jealous, my dear Will?! You should hear my heart thumping."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Jealous? I sometimes wonder which is worse: You spouting off about your "passion" to that demon-scum, or you "loving" me. Both are rather disgusting, and will most likely never happen."

A normal person would pull/yank/run/JUST GET AWAY from someone who hurt them so deeply. Grell threw himself forward.

"Oh, but WILL! I see that PASSION in your eyes!"

Grell couldn't see William's eyes. They were shielded.

"I feel nothing for you, Sutcliff, besides annoyance. Now, if you will excuse me, I have your paperwork to proof."

Grell was at the door, when he asked, "Do you hate me?"

William sighed. "I am neutral to you, in those aspects. Farewell, Sutcliff."

Grell wondered if he'd rather Will hate him...

~i~am~br~OK~en~

When Grell stared in the mirror, he saw only a stone-face...but no...he was more fragile than that, yes?

Whatever he was, he was cold.

He bowed his head. He wanted his pain—it belonged to him, and it was his liberator.

Free.

Sometimes he felt he wanted the physical pain. Sebastian was good for that.

Sometimes he felt he wanted the emotional pain. William was good for that.

Sometimes he wanted all of the above—(and something more). He—Grell—was good for that.

Grell picked up a blade—his first as a Reaper—and carved the same phrase he carved into his arm every time.

He chose that blade, because it would scar.

The words were easier to trace, that way.

Grell liked pain. He loved it. Therefore, when someone gave him the very pain he desired, he loved them.

Therefore, Grell loved himself.

"I am OK."

**_A/N First (and probably only) fic in this fandom. This was just something that wouldn't leave me. _**

**_I suppose that I noticed how Grell always likes the people that hurt him the most. Therefore...well, this was born. _**

**_Can I admit that writing this made me super sad? 'cause it did. _**

**_Random fact: I had a Sebastian moment today. I was just sitting around, watching Youtube when I heard all this meowing. When I looked out the window, I noticed this stray calico cat! I am currently secretly keeping her in my room. XD_**

**_Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review!_**


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